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Mahesh "The Half-Hearted"
Background I shouldn't be alive. I should have died fighting alongside my countrymen. But I deserted my company just as the fighting started. My company was wiped out. I should have died on the Galloping Ghost on its maiden voyage. But I chickened out at the last minute and gave my ticket away. The ship sank. There were no survivors. I should have died trying to rescue my wife from our burning house. But I wouldn't chance the flames. She died instead. You may say it wasn't my fault. That I probably couldn't have saved her anyway. That's what I told myself afterwards. That we would have both died. I was wrong. I know. The Raven Queen told me. I was fated to die on the battlefield. But I cheated death. I was then fated to die at sea. But I again avoided the long sleep. She thought surely I would risk my life to save my wife. But she was wrong. The loss of my wife drove me mad. And in that madness, the Raven Queen came to me. I would not stop for death, so death came for me. But it isn't death. My fate has changed. Now I am compelled to do her bidding. Now I must seek out those who seek to cheat death, whether it be through immortality, undeath, or simply too much sheer dumb luck. My powers flow from the Raven Queen, channeled through a set of manacles that symbolize both my bondage to the Queen of the Shadowfell, but that also aid me in binding those whom the Queen wishes to die. Oh, and yes, had I rushed into the burning house, I would have freed my wife where she was pinned in. She would have escaped, and I would have died in the rubble. I know because I see how it would have played out in my dreams every night. And I hear her screams and see how it really happened as well. I also watch my countrymen die in battle and hear the screams of those on the ship as its goes down. The Raven Queen controls my dreams, lest I forget. But I still don't know how this bargain got struck. I just know after I met the Raven Queen, I woke up under the docks in Lands End. Around Land's End Quests Pool's Closed I shan't regale you with the details my compatriots have so expertly recounted in their diverse logs. Of how we rowed a dinghy 'cross the shores to Pot O'Greed Island. Of how we encountered pirates so adept at stealth that even Rosencrantz, my personal Sentinel of the Raven Queen herself, failed to perceive their presence. Buried rum, a guttural shout, a wayward arrow...next thing I knew, we were waylaid. My gaze turned to captain, and I sensed a man who many times over had escaped the clutches of the Shadowfell. And I knew that he sent others to their deaths in his stead. While Rosencrantz distracted the captain, a hex emanated from my manacles and cursed him, followed immediately by a concentrated eldritch blast. And he was on his way to the Shadowfell. My Queen had claimed a prize. While my fellow adventures record that a letter was found on the captain's body and summarize its contents, for posterity and preservation of best evidence, I reproduce it here: "Captain, I know you grow tired of your station on the Island by Land's End, but I've been funneling gold to your venture. End your ceaseless questions, for you are being paid handsomely. I am not paying you to ask questions. Until we find every last crate lost from the Brine, I am not done with Land's End and the seas nearby---and thus neither are you. Unless it bears my seal and my people, don' let any one in or out of the port at Land's End and certainly not on your island station. The Comte de Treville is not done." Signed and Sealed (wax seal with three small crowns over an anchor) by Comte de Treville. Essart once sailed on the Brine, but according to him, it was carrying wheat, wool, and flour---or so the ledgers show. So what exactly was in the crates they seek? And are there any more still in the deep? Look elsewhere for the details of the subsequent battle with the Carrion Crawler, the missing dinghy, and the return with the newly christened Ship-That-Must-Not-Be-Named. My nights--already filled with the screams of dying militia, drowning civilians, and my burning wife---have grown even more unsettling. And I would scarcely have thought that possible. Now that scurvy cur of a captain haunts my dreams. But this is different than the others. He didn't die in my stead. He was my mark. I was compelled. His death was certain. He had escaped the Queens clutches for far too long. So why does she now send him to me? And what's more, my other nightmares show me the vivid details of the deaths I should have been present for--and prevented, at least in the case of my late wife. But I see more than the captain's death. I see his life. It comes in pieces. But in time, I should know more about the man. And hopefully, at least see his interactions with the Comte de Treville, maybe even learn about the cargo of the Brine. To sleep – to sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there's the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come... Harran's Tower I awoke with a start. These visions from Milady exceed the weight of Paddam's anvil. I was to venture into Blood Swamp the following day (or that very day, as it was after midnight). I wish she'd give me more than just pieces here and there. But mine is not to reason why. There are those in this world who seek to deny fate, to avert their mortality... and even worse---to usurp the throne of the Raven Queen, Lord of the Shadowfell. We will meet one, one with the power to succeed in his quest, in the swamp. And I'm supposed to stop him. Me?!? What part of coward does she not understand? Well, I just won't do it. I won't go to the swamp. Even if I am fated to go. I of all people know how easy it is to change fate, having (inadvertently) succeeded thrice. No sooner does this thought cross my mind than the manacles attached to my arm simultaneously burn both hot and cold, and an eldritch power courses through my veins. I know what I must do. As Glask has the most extensive, and possibly only, knowledge of Blood Swamp and Harran's Tower, we enlist his aid to guide us to our destination. I'm sure Willard will well recount his infatuation with that Dryad that almost led to our downfall. We tried to rescue him from an eternal sleep. Lot of good it did us. I found myself attacked by an infernal tree, hoisted by the ankles and regularly pummeled. Needless to say, I couldn't hit the broad side a barn dangling as I was. My life both literally and sanguinarily hanging by a vine, Rosencrantz---faithful sentinel that he is---came to my rescue. Like a dart, he propelled himself straight at my captor (I half-expected his beak to get lodged in the trunk). It was just the distraction I needed. A well-timed eldritch blast and I was finally free. (At this point, Willard and the Wicked Woman of the Wood decide they're going to try to make things work---even though she is attached to one of these trees, and she sends us on our way. At least she gave us better directions to Harran's Tower than Glask who doesn't seem to know much of anything worthwhile. I though this guy had been there before? We enter a clearing outside the Tower and find a robed and masked individual buying bodies from a couple o'goblins. A pile of bodies. Each one looks exactly like Glask. And of course, Glask knows nothing about what's going on. Two men begin loading the bodies onto a cart as the masked man hands over some gold. Except for the goblin high in the tower who trains an arrow on us, none pay us any mind. Finrell immediately wants to attack. But something tells me this is the man of whom I was forewarned. "When you venture to the swamp tomorrow, be of keen eye and sharp mind. You are not ready to slay him, but by my will and through your hand you will in time. But tomorrow, you shall meet. Be wary, my ward. He is dangerous, posing a threat even to me if his plans are seen through. Introduce yourself, but do not provoke him." Milady's words echo in my head. I caution the gnome that he knows not whom he seeks to trounce, nor has he adequately assessed the odds of success. Luckily for us all, he heeds my warning. And sure enough, when the man steps into the light, we can see that not only is he armed to the tooth, every fiber of his garments, every fiber of very being, emanates magic---dark magic. And just like that, he leaves, carting the bodies off to who knows where. I was going to find out. A look and a nod to Rosencrantz and he was off to follow the cart to the extent of his periphery. The details of our exploits in the Tower are well-documented elsewhere. I note for future reference the reason to return: there is a door that is not locked but that will not open. We must know what lies inside. There are beasts within we were not yet strong enough to defeat. And there is a cave system behind a secret door yet to be explored. Upon exiting the Tower, Rosencrantz delivers his report. He followed the cart through the forest and out of the swamp. Approximately five-seven miles due south of the Tower and down a road cut through a small mountain pass, the cart arrived at a mammoth and ancient mansion on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Undead corpses roamed the rear property. Rosencrantz couldn't make out if the corpses looked like Glask, but it would stand to reason. Whoever this man is, what ever he is planning, he must be stopped. But what am I supposed to do? We were dying---beset and besieged with spells dwindling. And I cried out to you, and you heard me, AND YOU REJECTED ME! How can I be both worthy and unworthy? But you were right to refuse. The situation did not require your intervention. In my cowardice, I overlooked the magic with which you already graciously imbued me. Forgive me. Create in me a worthy heart, that I may become your vessel of vengeance as you have appointed me to be. Though you slay me, yet will I serve. Men at some time are the masters of their fates: The fault . . . is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.